“I shall fetch your beverage this instant.” He stood, turned toward the coffee maker, stopped, then faced her once again. He braced his back against the counter and crossed his arms, a favorite position of his. His expression suddenly serious, he said, “Have I told you yet that you look very beautiful this dawning? Your lips are pink and dewy, your eyes are drowsy and you smell like oraberries.”
The compliments went straight to her head, fogging her thoughts. Me? Beautiful? No, no. On her best days, she was cute as a button, and she knew it. He was just being polite.
Her mother’s voice drifted through his head. Plain girls like us don’t win handsome boys like that, honey.
“What do oraberries smell like?” she asked, wanting to cry now. Please don’t let him say moldy cheese.
“Like the calm after a wild tempest.”
Oh. Oh, my. Even though he probably told every woman who owned his box that she smelled like oraberries, Julia felt herself melting under his spell. That was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her, and she savored the words, whether he’d meant them or not.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice cracking slightly.
“You are welcome.” He straightened with a snap and frowned. “What’s wrong, little dragon? Why does sadness radiate from you?”
He looked ready to slay any dragon for her, and it only increased the sadness. He didn’t want to do any dragon slaying on her behalf, not really. No one did. If her mother had spoken truth, no one ever would.
She wilted, her shoulders rolling in. Why am I sad? I slay my own dragons. That was a reason to celebrate! “I’m fine. Or I’ll be fine just as soon as I have my coffee.” Coffee made everything better. Or at least, it made her not want to crawl into a hole and die.
Though he appeared disappointed with her, he nodded and poured her a steaming mug of her beloved coffee. Her mouth watered, but not for the liquid. Not this time. For Tristan. As he turned to face her once again, he was pure male perfection, his muscles so…yummy. His bronze skin reminded her of satin, rippled in some places, smooth in others. For a man his size, he moved with such grace and agility, managing to look both angelic and devilish all at once.
And right now, he belongs to me.
She licked her lips. For a second, only a second, she allowed herself to mentally strip him. Off came the belt. Down went the pants. Oh, yeah, baby! Now they were getting to the good stuff. Such a tantalizing taper of dark hair…so many rippling muscles…a thick, hard erection aching for a touch.
A moment passed before she realized the big, hard erection in her imagination was actually big and hard in reality and straining against his black leather pants.
“Like what you see?” he asked, his voice strained.
Her gaze jerked from his crotch to his eyes—hot, blazing eyes. Before she melted in her chair, she cast her gaze past him, past the window. “Uh, I was just—I—you—”
“Were admiring the view. Yes. We’ve established this.”
“No! I mean yes. I mean maybe. But there are rules on this planet, you know. Rules about being seen in public with an—an engorged appendage. For all you know I was deciding whether or not to give you a citizen’s citation.”
He offered her a shameless, sexy grin. “Tell me, little dragon. How do you like it?”
She gasped. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”
“It is a perfectly innocent question. I simply wish to know how you want me to give it to you. Hot? Most definitely. Sweet?” He winked. “Maybe. If you ask nicely.”
She had trouble dragging in her next breath and tugged at the collar of her shirt. “Discussing sex at the kitchen table might be okay where you’re from, but not here.”
“Julia, Julia, Julia. What a naughty mind you have. I spoke only of your beverage. But, since you have no liking for the subject, I will certainly discuss sex with you.”
What! “Um, no, thank you.” Coffee. He’d wanted to know how she took her coffee, and she had assumed he wished to know how she took her penises. Was penises the plural of penis, or was peni?
Well, her mind officially resided in the gutter, didn’t it? “I’ll take cream and sugar, please,” she offered weakly.
Seconds seemed to stretch into hours as he placed a steaming mug in front of her and returned to his chair. Grateful for the distraction, she latched on to the cup with a vengeance, blew on the top, and took a tentative sip—and almost gagged. Her eyes watered, and she bit back a cough. This was by far the worst coffee she’d ever tasted. Had he even used a filter? Yuck! She spit out a mouthful of coffee grounds.
Tristan eased into the seat beside her, then swiveled her chair around so that she faced him. “Now you have your drink,” he pointed out.
“Yeah,” she assured him, hoping her distaste remained hidden. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings by insulting his “superior” beverage-making skills. “I do.”
He chuckled, and the deep rumble poured over her as smooth as melted butterscotch. “You may begin your lecture, then. Your requirement has been met.”
Julia slowly pushed out a breath. The moment of reckoning had arrived. Either she forgot her plan entirely or she asked Tristan to teach her how to entice Peter—if her neighbor wasn’t the man for her, then he’d be excellent practice for the one who was, and she could honestly use Tristan’s pickup line.
Was she a woman or chicken?
One glance at the chiseled perfection of Tristan’s features, and she knew her answer.
Chicken. Definitely chicken. More than likely, her pleasure slave had never faced a moment of rejection in his life. Well, besides the ones she’d given him. Anyway. He couldn’t know how it felt when others make fun of him, calling him mean names, ensuring their torment continued even
